


Ego Game

by strike



Category: Watch Dogs (Video Game)
Genre: Drama, F/M, Romance, badblood spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-03-01 21:35:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2788547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strike/pseuds/strike
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amber has one goal in mind when she moves back to Chicago: find the man she left broken-hearted and alone when he needed her most. Masquerading as a DJ in a pixellated rat mask, Jason uses his ego to cope with the pain he's been suffering with for years. Sometimes broken things don't look broken on the outside. Sometimes broken things can't be fixed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. If She Knew

**Author's Note:**

> Not really sure how far I intend to go with this fanfic. Ideally I'd like to finish it, but I'm not sure how long I can stay interested or how long it's going to be. The first chapter is fairly short, but I'll be updating frequently in 1k-2k bursts every day, every other day or every few days.
> 
> Toning down the warning to Teen, but there is some explicit language.  
> Note: This story contains spoilers from the watchdogs game and the badblood DLC.
> 
> Please keep in mind: I have no beta-reader, so I go back and re-read/edit typos constantly. Sorry for any errors I don't catch!  
> Thank you in advance for the reads, kudos and comments c:

"Come on, loosen up a little. You need to have a little fun, find someone to get your freak on with, drink your worries away." Camila flips her black hair over her shoulder as she surveys herself in the mirror. She dons a flirty red dress, and when she twirls, little is left to the imagination in regards to her underwear choice for the night.

"I don't intend to whore myself out, thanks." I return my attention to my laptop screen, only to have a stiletto thrown at me half-heartedly. It lands in the trash can beside my desk, and I ignore it.

"It wouldn't work for you anyway, since you're dressed like a nun." Camila retorts.

I scoff, looking down at my black cocktail dress. It ends just above the knees and has a more conservative collar than Camila's dress, but it's still not nun-like. Not by a long shot.

"This is far from nun-like." I reply flatly, "but hey, maybe you're right. Maybe I should be more like a nun and stay at home. I'm sure my computer would be a better companion than any of the sweaty guys I'll meet tonight anyway."

"That's enough of that! You need to give up on that computer nonsense and get your life together, girl. How long are you going to stay single, mourning over what used to be? Over one guy you used to date?" She levels a disapproving look at me. "You need to throw away anything that ties you down to the life you used to lead. Like hacking."

I know she only has my best interests at heart, but _God_ , it's like listening to my parents rant. I don't need to hear it from someone else.

"You promised me we'd go clubbing today." She pouts, placing her hands on her hips. "This is my _one_ chance to hit it big with a rich, hot guy so I can make my big break in Chicago. I basically had to sell my soul to get invites to Dot Connexion."

I sigh. By " _sell my soul_ " she means sleeping with an undesirable man, and I didn't think she'd actually go that far when I jokingly suggested I'd only go out clubbing if she could get me into Dot Connexion.

Truth is, I can get myself in just fine. All I'd have to do is create a fake digital signature and a forged invite… I just haven't had the time to test out my theory yet. And given Camila's little speech just now, I don't think she'd agree to my methods.

Besides, I can risk getting myself caught—my parents already expect trouble from _me_ —but I don't want to drag her into that potential mess. Her parents expect better of her, which is why she keeps her weekend partying a secret from them.

"I'm going, I'm going." I concede apologetically, closing my laptop as I stand.

"Then what are we waiting for?" The smile immediately reappears on her face, and she grabs her purse and keys from my bed, "Time for you to forget that immature, bratty ex-boyfriend of yours. You can do _so_ much better."

Here we go again. She met the guy _once_ and she acts like she knows him inside and out.

I roll my eyes and fight back a smile as I grab my phone and follow her out of the room.

If she knew the _real_ reason I'm gunning to go to Dot Connexion, I'd never hear the end of it.


	2. Unathorized Access

The line is already stretching around the corner when we arrive at the Ambrose Theater. The bright façade lights bathe the sidewalk in a golden hue, and the buzz of chatter drowns out the faint beats resonating from inside.

Camila and I are making our way to the end of the line when one of the bouncers spots our passes and stops us, pulling us aside. To our surprise, he lets us bypass the lineup entirely, handing each of us a VIP lanyard.

"Did you know these were VIP passes?" I raise a curious eyebrow at Camila as we pass through the front entrance doors.

"You think I'd play around with people who don't have the goods?" She feigns offence, then smiles, elbowing me. "It's probably nothing, pretty girls always get to skip the line."

When we step onto the dance-floor, there's already a small throng of people mingling about under the flashing lights. It's hard to hear much more than the steady electro rhythm being pumped through the speakers. The giant rat head suspended from the ceiling is quite a work of art in itself, and I'm gazing up, mesmerized by it, when I feel a tap on my shoulder.

A waiter holds a tray of drinks out towards me. I gaze curiously at the LED box on his head, wondering how he manages to see where he's going. Probably the same technology Defalt uses for his mask, I guess.

I politely refuse the drink, but Camila reaches for one of the bottles.

"Woah—you can't drink." I put out a hand to stop her, "How are you going to get home?"

"What are you talking about? You'll drive me home, clearly." She looks at me questioningly. A look of realization dawns on her face before I can figure out how to explain that I probably won't be leaving with her tonight.

"Seriously, Amber? You're _that_ confident that you'll be going home with someone?" She casts me a disbelieving look.

Confident? _Ha_. The only thing that I'm confident about is that Jay's going to be _pissed_ when I show up after the way I left years ago. Odds are, he'll just kick me out on my ass. He doesn't exactly have a manageable temper.

"Well, I won't stand in your way, sly girl. Find yourself a date." She smiles, gesturing towards the dance floor.

I cringe inwardly, realizing that I've damned myself to a night of fake-flirting until I can get a private moment with the DJ. It may not even come. Then what? I'll be humiliated in front of Camila. And if _she_ finds someone to go home with then, well… looks like I'll be taking the L home. Not pleasant.

I barely have time to dwell on my sticky situation when someone rudely pushes past me and starts talking loudly to Camila.

"Damn, girl!" He checks her out with dramatized flare. I note the strained smile on her face, and wonder if this idiot is one of her past… _acquaintances_.

"Nice to see you tonight, Sammy!" She recovers from her initial reaction, and flashes him a more enthusiastic grin, "And thank you again for the passes. Amber and I are thrilled to be here."

She yanks me towards her, her fingernails digging in to my skin. That's my warning not to escape, so I guess she _really_ doesn't like this guy. I survey him quickly. He's wearing a _ton_ of gold jewellery, but he's also dressed in a suit so… I guess he's someone important around here. He did manage to secure those VIP passes after all. He eyes me with a lecherousness I don't appreciate, and I feel a bit bad that Camila got involved with him.

"I'm glad you ladies are enjoying yourselves. Can I get you some drinks? It's all on me." He spreads his hands generously, and I catch the glint of his diamonds rings in the light.

 _Totally rich_. Well, Camila's always saying she wants to marry someone wealthy and well-connected. Maybe this dude fits the bill.

"No, thanks. I don't drink." I smile politely, feeling a growing urge to put as much space between us as possible. He certainly doesn't fit _my_ bill.

"I'll have a drink or two, why not?" Camila shrugs.

Sam disappears to get the drinks, and I shoot Camila a pointed glare, but she waves me off half-heartedly.

"He's offering to pay, so why not? If you need to go home with someone then I'll just get Sam to drive me back." Her expression is tinted with boredom, and I wonder what she actually thinks of the man.

"If you put it that way, I feel bad. I don't want to leave my friend with a creep." I frown.

"He's not a creep." There's a hint of annoyance in her tone, and she quickly corrects herself, "He's not actually a terrible person."

Well, does she like him or not? It's so hard to tell with this girl.

"Listen, I'm going to go dance. I don't want to burden you tonight, so have fun! Text me when you leave." She waves at me and starts walking away before I have a chance to protest.

Well, this works out in my favour I suppose. I finally have a free moment to decide what I'm going to do next.

I glance up at the second floor balcony overlooking the dance floor. From up there, it's not easy to see where I'm standing. The column shadows make a good observation place, hidden from the DJ's view but perfect for getting a good look around.

There are a lot of tough-looking men in suits lingering around the edges of the dance floor—way too many to be bouncers. Could be hired security, but why? Has Defalt been trash-talking someone important? Or does Joseph DeMarco want to make sure his exhibit is 100% safe?

Makes me glad I didn't go forward with my plans to make the fake invite though. I didn't anticipate this.

I glance up at the DJ booth. He's preoccupied behind his turntables, nodding his head to the beat as he spins the tracks. If this Defalt isn't an imposter… then that man in the rat mask is the same one I left in Chicago three years ago.

I can profile him with my phone, if I can make it to the second balcony. Question is… does this VIP pass give me that much access?

I cross the floor, sticking to the shadows until I'm forced to cross into the light to get to the stairs. I flash my pass at the guard and he looks at it, then asks to see my phone.

Why?

My heart is pumping furiously, and I'm not sure why. What am I afraid of? He's not going to attack me. I hand my phone over reluctantly and he uses his own phone to do something—I barely have time to register what—next thing I know he's got his hand on his earpiece, mumbling a question to someone.

He says my full name aloud. Looks uncertain. Flinches as though someone has yelled in his ear. Repeats my name. Listens quietly for a long time. Finally, a sober expression settles on his face and he looks at me.

"Come with me. Defalt wants to see you in his dressing room after the show."

"I'm being detained?" My brow furrows in disbelief. What the hell is going on?

"You are his guest, miss." The man explains, but he's grabbed my arm by the elbow and now he's leading me out of an exit door.

I just wanted to go upstairs… but damn, looks like I blew my cover. Defalt's pretty careful about the people he lets near him. I don't remember Jay ever being so paranoid… maybe this person is a fake.

We head down a narrow hall and take a left before we reach an unmarked and heavily secured door. The man swipes his security badge against the sensor and opens the door, allowing me to enter first. He enters as well, closing the door behind him. If I'm a guest, why do I need to be baby-sitted by security, huh, Defalt?

"Do you have any weapons?" The man asks, but his rhetorical tone makes it clear that he doesn't expect me to have any. Duh, I'm wearing a fairly tight dress, heels, and no jacket. Where am I going to be hiding a gun? Thigh holster?

"No. I came here to see him and he knows me." I explain, unwilling to divulge too much. He doesn't reply, so I ignore him and look around the space.

It's pretty big for a dressing room—exposed brick walls, a loft ceiling…. Looks more like a bachelor pad. The ASCII art and neon lighting make it clear that this is the rat DJ's turf, as if you could get any more geeky.

At least _that's_ in line with Jay's decorating sense. He's always been a gaudy idiot, but he did have a talent for making things with lights and electronics. Defalt really might be him after all.

I sit down on the couch, resigning myself to spending the rest of the night here until _Mr. Important_ decides he finally wants to meet with me. Sorry Camila, no fake-flirting for me tonight. I'm a hostage.

The security guard stands motionless by the door, his eyes pinned on me. His bald head gleams in the light, and I stare back at him defiantly.

"He sure has a lot of bouncers." I comment.

"I'm not a bouncer. I'm a fixer."

Wait, _what_?

What would Defalt— _Jay_ need fixers for? I thought he gave up his hacking ages ago. I thought… I thought that incident with Dedsec was the final straw.

"I can't answer any of your questions. He'll be very angry."

"Yeah, I figure." I sigh, "He's already probably pissed that I'm even here."

He just nods, and I know I'm in for a hell of a night.


	3. Resolutions

I sigh, glancing up at the fluorescent lights hanging from the ceiling. It’s been two hours, and I’m _still_ a prisoner in this man-cave-esque excuse for a dressing room.

The guard stepped out ages ago, and he still hasn’t returned. If he hadn’t locked the door I would have been tempted to just leave. I can find another way to contact Defalt, on my own terms. I mean, seriously, how many hours does he expect me to waste waiting for him?

Camila hasn’t even bothered to text me, so I guess she’s too preoccupied with “Sammy” to notice my absence. Well, whatever. Maybe that’s a good thing. If she notices that I’m missing she might assume I was bluffing and went home early… alone.

I would totally do that. _To hell with honour and pride!_

There are faint voices in the hallway, and as they grow louder it becomes clear that one is much angrier than the other, firing off a continuous stream of expletives and random insults.

I can’t help but smile.

It _definitely_ sounds like him.

The door slams open and clatters against the wall with a heavy bang. Defalt storms in, the security guard almost directly on his heel. The look on the guard’s face is a mixed expression of concern and frustration, maybe a little irritation thrown in for good measure.

“Out.” Defalt points at him and jerks his head towards the doorway.

“But Defalt, what about your safety—”

“ _That_ fucking girl isn’t going to hurt me.” He points at me, “But next time, do your damn job and give me the _complete_ guest list in advance when I ask for it, or _you’ll_ be the one getting hurt.” He snaps.

Well, the good news is that he’s not mad.

The bad news is that he’s furious.

The man hesitates just briefly before stepping out of the room, reluctantly closing the door behind him. It locks quietly, and Defalt turns sharply to face me, pulling off first his hood, then his mask.

The nostalgia hits me like a fricking _tsunami_.

That stupid face. The slightly broken nose, the angry brown eyes, the brows furrowed in irritation. The only thing that differs is the striking blue colour of his fauxhawk, a shade as bright and obnoxious as the LED lights in his mask.

He crosses the floor as I sit on the couch ogling at him, coming to a stop just in front of me. Holy shit, this is _Jason. It’s him! In the flesh. I’m not imagining it._

“What the fuck are you doing here, Amber?” The volume of his voice is surprisingly quieter than what it was just moments ago. It’s no less venomous, though.

I’m so stunned that he’s actually _Jay_ that I don’t even know how to start answering his question. And when I finally remember how to speak again, I can’t even give him a serious answer.

“You wanted to meet here.” I venture a joke, but one corner of his mouth twitches and I can tell that he’s _this_ close to snarling at me.

I stand up, but he still towers over me by a good five inches, and his body language is anything but playful. Still, I can’t help myself.

“Have you grown?”

“Don’t fuck around with me.” He snaps, stepping closer. I can almost feel his breath on my face, "Why are you here? Why now?"

The anger is still eating away at him, and I should really stop with the jokes before he decides to kick me out. It’s just… it’s been so long since he was mad at me. It’s been so long since _anything_. I still miss him like hell and he’s standing right here.

“I was looking for you, Jay.” I frown.

“How did you get a guest invite from Sam Cho? Did he send you? I’ll be fucking damned if that asshole thinks he can find out my identity this way.” He’s fuming, and it takes me a second to even register that he’s talking about _that_ Sam I met earlier.

"I didn't tell him who you were! He doesn't even know me." I reply defensively, "And I only got the pass because my friend is… friends with him." I feel a little awkward disclosing any more about the nature of Camila's relationship with the man, but the piercing gaze Jay levels at me now suggests that he already knows.

“That fucking bitch, I thought she was familiar. She was that one friend of yours who hated me with a vengeance, wasn’t she?” He glares at me.

"I thought you were the one who approved guests. Why would you invite people you don't want near you?" I ignore his question about Camila, though he's surprisingly spot-on. I can't believe he even remembers her.

“I don’t have a choice, when an idiot runs Dot Connexion. He’s in DeMarco’s good books.” He spits the name out like it’s poisoned, and it’s clear that he doesn’t think highly of the man.

I don’t really have a reply, and before I have a chance to think of one, his anger flares up again as he remembers our original conversation.

“If Cho didn’t send you, who did? Dedsec?”

“What—No! Why would Dedsec send me?! You know I left that scene when you did.” I look at him in mixed disbelief and frustration.

“Then where have you been?” His tone is painfully accusatory, “Where did you fucking go, all these years? You didn’t even say goodbye.”

“My parents—“

He cuts me off with a scoff and turns away.

No, here we go again. It’s always the same with him. He’s impatient. He’s immature. He doesn’t take kindly to being wronged. Let’s face it, I didn’t expect him to welcome me back with open arms, but I supported him throughout that Dedsec debacle. I can’t believe he’s suspicious of me.

“Listen to me.” I step in front of him, “My parents threatened to cut me off if I talked to you again. I don’t want… I don’t want a broken family. The Dedsec incident was the final straw. I went to jail for _72 hours, Jay_.”

“And I got you out!” He snaps, throwing his mask onto the couch, “ _I_ was the one who made sure those charges didn’t get pressed. And how exactly did you repay me? _Oh,_ I remember! By walking out of my fucking life. I guess you don’t count _me_ as family, then.”

Damn, that hurts.

“That’s not true!” I raise my voice despite myself, “You asked me why I’m here; why do you think I’m here?! Because I wanted you back, you stupid idiot. Because you mean something to me!”

“You’re telling me you disobeyed your parents to come back?” He appraises my excuse with a critical stare. I clench my fists, and force myself to calm down. Yelling isn’t going to help. I didn’t come here to fight, I came here to make amends.

“I’m sorry for leaving you in the first place, but I didn’t have a choice. The police told my parents they’d keep me under surveillance, and I couldn’t risk getting into trouble again. I’m sorry, Jay.”

I really am.

I’m sorry that I didn’t convince him to leave Chicago with me. We could have eloped. I could have figured out another way to pay for university rather than depending on my parents.

But who am I kidding? That would have been the immature thing to do.

Instead I ran away and left him behind to pick up the pieces.

His expression is still stormy, but his gaze has settled on my left forearm.

I grab his right arm, pushing the sweater sleeve up before he has a chance to pull away. As I thought, it’s still there: his matching circuit board tattoo.

We didn’t get them because we just wanted cheesy couple tattoos. It meant more than that. Friendship. A connection. Loyalty. I forsook all those things when I left, and yet… I just couldn’t bear to remove it.

“You kept it.” I comment quietly.

“So? You did too.” He replies gruffly, “I thought your control-freak parents would have made you get rid of it by now.”

“They can’t control my life. Not anymore.” I shake my head, stepping closer to him to emphasize my point, “I told you, I’m back. And no one sent me.”

He eyes me silently, his mouth still set in an uncertain frown, his brow furrowed by the anger that had coloured his expression just minutes ago.

“I came back because I missed you, and I’m sorry. And more than that, I love—“

“Stop.” He turns away from me, “That might be true, but things aren’t the same any more. We can’t go back to that.”

Well, I can’t say I didn’t anticipate this. Anticipating it doesn’t make it any easier to hear, though.

“You don’t… want me back?” I hear the pain in my own voice.

“That’s not what I said!” He turns to face me, frustrated by his inability to explain, “Fuck—look at you. Why wouldn’t I want you back? But I can’t. Not now. It’s too dangerous.”

“What are you talking about, Jay? You’re a DJ. What danger would you possibly be in?” I think of all the fixers I saw in the Ambrose, and suddenly an uncomfortable possibility dawns on me.

“Is someone targeting you?” I step towards him, and he begins to turn away again, but I grab him by the shoulders and force him to look me in the eye. He gazes ahead silently, unwilling to divulge anything.

“You’re not still hunting for Raymond Kenney, are you?”

The question makes his face twitch slightly, and I know that I’ve hit the nail on the head.

“ _Jason—_ ”The cautionary tone in my voice is all I have. What am I supposed to say to him? He’s already getting angry again, and I’ve only said his name. Every time we have this conversation, we fight. I don’t need that right now.

“Never mind, this isn’t the time. I should have known that’d be it.” I interrupt him before he has a chance to yell at me. He remains silent, but the scowl on his face means he’s not satisfied with my tone.

“I doubt Kenney has enough manpower or resources to justify this many fixers for your protection.” I eye him carefully, “So it’s something bigger. Who’s paying for the fixers?”

“It’s none of your business.” He snaps, removing my hands from his shoulders.

“Jay, I know you. I know _everything_ about you. Are you really going to hide this from me?” I cross my arms. I probably don’t have any right to be angry with him after what I did. That doesn’t mean I’m going to accept that he’s keeping things from me or that he considers me suspicious.

“It’s fucking BLUME, okay? It’s Blume. Are you happy?” He practically snarls at me, but that’s not shocking.

Blume. Frickin’ Blume. _That’s_ the shocking part.

“I’m not going to judge you. You know I’ve always been there to support you.” I reply quietly, gathering my composure. He watches me contemplatively, and I know he’s trying to figure out if I’m secretly disapproving of his decision.

And it’s true; I’m not comfortable with him working for Blume. But knowing him, it’s not because he considers their cause “noble”or justified—he’s a blackhat hacker after all—no, it’s because he thinks their resources will help him find the man who caused the blackout that led to his brother’s death.

After all these years, I thought maybe his obsession with Raymond Kenney would fade. I thought maybe he could move on and accept that Brian’s death is no one’s fault, but… if he’s going this far to find Kenney, it’s clear that he’s taking this more seriously than ever.

This isn’t the time to talk him out of anything. I need to build up rapport, or he’ll keep shutting me out.

“Okay, so I know the situation now.” I shrug, “And I’m not any closer to leaving.”

“Amber, please.” He’s practically pleading. It sounds like a tired request, “I can’t drag you into this. It’s dangerous.”

“How is this any different from when we were in Dedsec? It’s not any less illegal, Jay. It’s not any less dangerous.” I hold his gaze defiantly.

“The stakes are higher, and if anything happens to you I--”

“If anyone was going to target me, they’d already have done it. It’s not exactly uncommon knowledge that Sh1ft and Defalt hung around together.” I roll my eyes.

“I’ve been cleaning up your trail, you damn noob.” He replies, irritation in his voice. I give him the most disbelieving look I can muster.

“You? _You’ve_ been cleaning up my trail? Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t Defalt one of the biggest names in Chicago’s entertainment industry right now? Isn’t Defalt the mastermind behind the digital trip apps, isn’t Defalt the one with his face plastered across the city, with his signature ASCII crap all over the web? How do you think I even found you? All I had to do was follow your tail.”

I see the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth, but he looks away, holding on defiantly to that sober expression, furrowing his brows like it’ll help him stay annoyed.

“You should go home. Go back to your parents. Find a new guy… though you have terrible taste in men.” He mumbles, not meeting my gaze.

I feel the smile tugging at my lips. He always said that to me… but he was the only one I ever dated, and he knows it.

“Jay, don’t you miss me?” I place one hand on his chest, reaching the other over his shoulder and letting the backs of my fingers graze the nape of his neck.

He doesn’t make any effort to remove my hands, so maybe he's finally warming up a little.

“You fucked up my show. Like I could concentrate knowing you were here.” He casts me a mild glare, “Isn’t that answer enough?”

“Not really.” I smile faintly, running my fingers through the hair at the back of his head.

He surprises me by pressing his mouth to my lips without warning, and I take only a moment to recover from the shock before I respond. All at once, it feels like his anger has dissipated, replaced by a hungry passion I couldn’t see before. He pulls me to him, wrapping his arms around me, and I’m reminded of the way our bodies fit together after three years of nothing but regret and loneliness. It’s been too long since I’ve felt his touch and the way he dominates my mouth so stubbornly. I wrap my arms over his shoulders, pulling him closer as the kiss becomes more passionate. He knows how vulnerable he makes me when he claims my lips, but this bout of passion is also a way for him to show his own vulnerability: This kiss is meant to show me that he’s missed me just as badly as I’ve missed him.

When he finally breaks off the kiss, he releases me just enough to look me in the eye.

“I hope you didn’t come back to just be _friends_.” His pupils are dilated, and I raise an amused eyebrow at him, shrugging silently.

“If that’s how you kiss a friend, you’d better stop that habit now.” He smirks. If he can tell jokes, we’re definitely on the path to reconciliation.

“If I kissed friends like that, that would make you my only friend.” I reply, fighting the urge to grin.

For the first time since we’ve been reunited, he smiles. Genuinely. God, it makes my heart hurt.

“Fuck, Amber.” He presses his forehead to mine, his voice a low growl, “How can you show up looking more beautiful than ever at a time when I just came to terms with losing you?”

“You don’t have to come to terms with it. You haven’t lost me.” I whisper, touching his bottom lip with my fingertips.

He says nothing for a moment, then pulls away abruptly.

“Go home. I’ll think about how to sort this shit out later.” He calmly walks to the couch and picks up his mask, like we didn’t just share the equivalent of a Hollywood romance scene a couple seconds ago.

“Drive me home, then. I don’t have a lift.” I reply.

He looks annoyed by the prospect, and is about to argue when I cut him off.

“Or I could just take the L. I’m sure there will be many friendly gentlemen who’ll be happy to accompany me for the ride.” I cross my arms, shrugging nonchalantly.

“Like hell you will.” He grumbles, “Fine, but I’m _not_ sleeping over. I’m not even going inside.”

I smile.

Seems like he doesn’t realize that I’ve already achieved what I wanted tonight.


	4. Trapped

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Sorry about the extreme absence everyone. I won't lie, I definitely lost some of my motivation to write this. Thank you for your kudos! I'll try to hang in there until the ending. - strike

The silence is heavy, awkward, uncomfortable, and I hate it. He hasn't spoken since we got into the car—not even to ask me where I live now. I guess he got the information from my CTOS profile, but I wish he'd ask me anyway, just to give us something to talk about.

Normally he'd drum his fingers on the wheel or turn on the radio, but he hasn't made any move to lessen the tense atmosphere at all. Not even a single complaint about traffic.

As we idle at a red light watching a young couple make their way across the street, I finally clear my throat.

"I live just up ahead in that glass building."

The light changes to green and he makes a left turn instead, taking us westward.

"I know." He replies. I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn't.

"Where are we going then?" I raise an eyebrow, and he glances over at me coolly before returning his eyes to the road.

"Aren't you going to ask how I got your address?"

"I figured working for Blume means they gave you access to CTOS." I shrug, "You checked your phone when we got in the car. I assume you were checking my profile."

He doesn't respond, and I'm desperate to keep hold of the conversation before it melts back into awkward silence again. I only wish I'd thought more carefully about the next words that come tumbling out of my mouth.

"I have access too. To CTOS."

He silently clenches his jaw, and I immediately regret bringing this up. When Jay is in a bad mood, he's what you might call an erratic driver. I know better than to start an argument when he's behind the wheel. I'm not keen on dying tonight.

"Dedsec gave it to you?" To my relief, his reaction is more subdued than I expected. He sounds oddly calm.

"No, I didn't ask them. There are a lot of other hackers in the city, you know," I avoid his gaze, "I just had to reconnect with some old acquaintances. I didn't tell them I was looking for you."

"So? Now they know you're back in Chicago. You didn't need the system access to find me, Amber. I'm a public performer, for fuck's sake. Half the city knows I play the Ambrose on weekends. You said it yourself. I'm not _that_ hard to find." He raises his voice slightly, but it's not anger—not yet—just annoyance.

" _Defalt_ is a public performer. How was I supposed to know if that was really you and not some poser?"

"You thought I'd give up on hacking after _Dedsuck_ kicked me out?" He scowls, the disgust evident in his words.

Yeah, I guess a part of me did. That part of me ignored the much higher possibility that it really _was_ Jay behind the successful DJ career, the digital trips, and the impressive online reputation. It was stupid of me to assume that he'd let pain, grief, or failure stop him. It clearly hasn't stopped him from pursuing Raymond Kenney.

If anything, it makes him more determined.

"Chicago's not what it used to be. You should have stayed away." He grumbles, tightening his grip on the steering wheel.

I'm halfway through a sigh when he cuts me off.

"Still… I'm kind of glad you came back."

What, a change of heart?

I'm dumbstruck by his admission, but he merges onto the road leading northwards to Pawnee, and I recognize where we're going before I have time to formulate a response.

As we drive through the district's narrow, quiet roads, the nostalgia comes back to haunt me. This is the last place we met, the very last time I saw him.

I didn't tell him I was leaving at the time. I played it off like it was just another day.

Sure enough, he pulls into a lot just in front of the marina, and turns off the ignition. He doesn't even wait for me to follow him; he's already out of the car and heading to the docks. I lament my choice of footwear as I struggle not to twist my ankles walking in heels on the grass.

The dark water gurgles quietly, barely audible over the sounds of laughter echoing from a nearby pub. The mood here feels far more relaxed than the tense air between us. Even though it's past midnight, it doesn't feel that way; the dockside lamps cast a golden glow on everything, and the smell of a late supper wafts by on the cool summer breeze.

For a long time, I stare out at the bright Chicago skyline across the bay, glittering like a man-made arrangement of stars on the water.

Damn, it's so hard to believe that the last time I saw this view was three years ago.

This city is where I was born, where I grew up… where we met.

When I finally look over at him, I find him staring back at me. I'm perplexed by the quiet reflection I see in his face, where only moments earlier there used to be an irritated scowl.

If he wants closure, if… if he wants to break up, how do I have any right to deny him?

I wait for him to say something, anything to explain the reason we're standing here at 12:41 AM on a Saturday night.

He finally glances away, kicking a small pebble into the water.

"You wore that dress the first time we fucked."

It's such a simple observation, and yet it catches me completely off guard. So much so, that I let out a laugh. Here I was waiting for some serious, philosophical comment to suit the mood, and he blindsides me with his bluntness.

"You don't have to look so surprised." He rubs the back of his neck, frowning, "Is it weird that I remember?"

Now he's _embarrassed_. Lord, save me from this precious boy.

"You told me it was your favourite before, but I didn't think you'd remember that specific time I wore it." I smile.

"How can I not remember your dad threatening to kill me for the first time?" He humours me with a smirk.

"Yeah, I guess that might've contributed to the salience of that memory." I take one of his hands in my own, and he pulls it out of my grip almost immediately.

" _Jesus,_ your hands are cold." He begins to unzip his sweater.

"Jay, I'm fine-"

He ignores my protests as he shrugs his arms out of the sleeves and hands it to me.

I take the sweater from him reluctantly, slipping it on. It's warm. It smells like him, and also faintly of AXE body spray—a fact that fills me with immense disappointment. I thought I taught him better than to wear that abomination.

"What's another one to add to the 3 million other sweaters of mine that you still have?" He jokes.

"Oh please. More like 3. You can come by and pick them up whenever you want, you know." I smile, and he steps closer, until we're just centimetres apart. He presses his forehead against mine, wrapping his arms around me.

It feels like everything else-the pub laughter, the cool breeze, the smells of late supper—has faded away.

"That's a fucking trap, and you know it." His breath tickles on my face.

"So is this." I plant a pert kiss on his lips and he chuckles lightly, slipping his arms beneath the unzipped sweater as he pulls me into an embrace that erases what little space had been between us.

"Who's trapped now?"

He kisses me then, his mouth capturing my lips without warning. I smile as his tongue presses for entry, letting my hands rest on his broad shoulders as I lean into his embrace. He controls the pace as he dominates my mouth, igniting a fierce fire in my stomach that lets me do little else but keep up with his roaming tongue.

His grip on my hips becomes firm as my fingernails graze the nape of his neck. He shudders, and I wonder if it's because of the breeze or my touch. I feel no chill, but whether it's because of the warmth of his sweater, his embrace, or the heat eating away at my insides, I don't know.

I let my fingers trail into his hair, my other hand following the line of his collar bone to the base of his throat. Before my fingertips even touch his Adam's apple, he breaks off the kiss.

"The fuck are you doing? Don't make me jump into that lake." He levels a critical gaze at me, his voice betraying him with its husky overtone.

I smile, moving a loose strand of hair out of my face, trying to look less affected by that bout of passion than he was.

"It's your punishment for wearing AXE."

"I had to keep the ladies off me somehow." He shrugs, a coy smile playing on his lips.

"I bet." I raise an amused eyebrow.

"You don't believe me?"

"I believe you. I'm sure there are a lot of Camilas in the world eager for a chance with a hotshot like you."

His smile disappears, and I kick myself for stupidly bringing the real world back into our intimate moment.

"Yeah, well… she'll have to settle for the Sam Chos of the world." He steps away, look back at the parking lot.

Just as I begin to feel like I've wrecked the entire evening, I feel his grip on my hand, his fingers intertwining with mine. My breath catches in my throat.

"I should get you home."


	5. No Regrets

There's an incessant, urgent knocking on the door, and only one person has the nerve to knock like that on a Sunday morning. I roll my eyes, turn the stove off and head to the door. One look through the peephole confirms my prediction: Camila.

I unlock the door and pull it open, but she doesn't even wait for me to move before she pushes her way in.

"Still in your Pyjamas, _Am_? It's 11 in the morning, you know." She appraises me critically, amusement on her makeup-clad face.

"Why are you here?" I ignore her criticism, "Usually you text me in advance when you show up."

"I left my stilettos and my favourite purse here and I need them, stat. I'm going out for brunch in like 20 minutes." She's already making her way down the hall to my bedroom, and I'm thankful Jay's not around.

Last night he dropped me off like the well-behaved, innocent boyfriend my father always wanted him to be: nothing more than a good night peck on the cheek. Unfortunately, no indication of when I'd see him again either. I get it, he needs time to come to terms with my return. There's more to relationships than sharing a kiss or a bed, and his emotions are more volatile than most people's.

I'm just a little afraid that he's second guessing himself—that he'll withdraw from this if he decides whatever life he leads now is 'too dangerous' to involve me in.

I rub my face, telling myself that won't happen. I need to be there to protect him from his own idiocy. He's hot-headed and impulsive, and working with an organization like Blume is against his very nature. Whatever he's using them for, he's serious about it. I may be the only person left who can stop him.

I remember my incomplete omelette and go back to the kitchen to find it still warm enough to be resuscitated on the stove.

Seems like Camila's taking her sweet time looking for the purse and stilettos… she should have remembered the shoe fell in the trash since she _threw it at me_ yesterday. I flip the omelette over one last time and turn off the stove, and hear her footsteps coming back up the hall.

"Did you have a good time yesterday? You never filled me in."

Crap, I completely forgot to come up with a story to tell her.

"Nothing big, really. Just flirted with some guys here and there." I call back, trying my best to sound casual.

"Nothing big?" She feigns offence at my word choice, and when she steps into the kitchen I feel my breath catch.

In her hands is the sweater Jay lent me. I must've left it in plain sight on the computer chair or the corner of the bed. Damn it!

Well… this can't possibly get any worse.

"Nothing big?" She repeats, holding the sweater up, "Oh, right. It's _just the DJ_ , huh?"

Her smile is deceptively innocent, and I assess it warily. What kind of answer should I give? Confirmation? Deflection?

"How do you know it was his?" I make a joke of the situation, "He has a lot of wannabe fans."

"Don't play stupid with me, Amber," She frowns, "You know he doesn't sell merchandise."

 _Actually_ , I didn't know that. How does Camila know more about my boyfriend than I do?

I bite my lip. There's really nothing I can do but come clean at this point.

"Why are you being so secretive about it?" She slaps me on the arm lightheartedly, her eyes glittering, "Why didn't you tell me you hooked up with the fricking _DJ?_ When you said you were planning to go home with someone I didn't think you set your sights so high."

She laughs, and I feel a little bit offended by her suggestion that I would settle for anything less than best.

"It's… it's no big deal though. Just a one-night stand." I lie. It wasn't even that. We yelled at each other, went to Pawnee and made out. Not really Camila's idea of a glamorous night with a celeb. I suppose that's not her fault though; Jay is nothing like a celeb.

"Well, who knows? Maybe it could turn in to something more. I'm jealous." She teases. Sounds like she's telling the truth about being jealous.

I'm half-inclined to laugh, because if she knew who was behind the mask, she sure as hell wouldn't be jealous.

"It probably won't." I shrug, moving my omelette to the plate. Whatever appetite I had before, it's gone now.

I wish she'd just leave for her brunch already, geez. Didn't she say she was in a rush?

"Well, if you're that non-committal, mind if I borrow the sweater? I'd love to show it to Sammy." She holds it out at arm's length to examine it.

"No—"

The word is out of my mouth before I even realize I've said it. It hangs in the air for a moment, and I see the surprise on Camila's face as her eyebrows rise. She definitely didn't expect this, I can tell.

"Sorry, it's… I have to give it back to him. He just forgot it." It's a crappy excuse and she knows it too, judging by the pause before her smile returns.

"See, you believe it'll turn into something more too! You don't have to force yourself. I know you're sentimental about it." She smacks me playfully with the sweater before resting it over my shoulder.

I don't really have anything to say, but she doesn't give me a chance anyway. She's already turned and headed to the foyer.

"You should introduce me to him sometime! I expect it." She calls back.

Introduce her? I have a strong feeling that's not going to sit well with the man.

"Kay." I call back, infusing my voice with as much believable enthusiasm as I can muster, in spite of the immense discomfort this conversation has left me in.

I hear the door open and close again, and only then do I let out the sigh I'd been restraining this whole time. I look at the black sweater in my hands and lament that Jay lent it to me at all.

As soon as that thought crosses my mind, I chastise myself for it. I shouldn't be regretting anything. The fact that he opened up to me is a blessing and a second chance.

I attempt to fold the sweater, and my phone slides out of one of the pockets, clattering to the floor. After I've gotten over my initial wince response, I bend down and pick it up, inspecting it for damage. None, thankfully.

I forgot I'd left this in the pocket. At least it was password protected. It's not that I don't trust Camila—she's my friend, after all—but she has a tendency to poke around, and I'm sure she would have been curious to find out if I took any selfies with Defalt, sans-mask.

I didn't, of course, but he did give me his number. Not like I'd be stupid enough to write "Jay" or "Defalt" as his contact name, but I have few enough contacts that she would recognize an unfamiliar alias.

I open the text app and type in a short message.

_Rise and shine, emperor rat. What are you up to?_

I smile as I hit send. No doubt, he's probably not even up yet.

The phone vibrates in my hand, and it startles me.

_"Why the hell are you texting me this early? Breakfast delivery or gtfo."_

I laugh, but apparently he was serious because the next message is a set of coordinates, to what—I assume—is his house.

 _Good morning to you too, asshole,_ I reply.

He sends back a single heart emote, and I sigh, shaking my head to prevent the smile from creeping on to my face.

No, I don't regret this.


	6. All the Sunshine

_Door's unlocked_.

I glance at my phone, wondering whether Jay is using it to track my location as well.

It's a very nice building, I have to admit, but the high level of security makes it feel more like a fortress than a home. I worry for him. Only paranoia drives people to live like this.

I reach the apartment door in question and grasp the handle. It unlocks easily, just as he said. What greets me is the dim entrance hall of a modest bachelor suite, and as I step inside, the overhanging neon lights begin to turn on one by one, bathing the space in a mildly fluorescent blue glow. Well, I wouldn't have chosen this kind of lighting for a 'warm' entrance but… that's Jay for you.

There's a wide doorway leading to the next room, and I can see him sitting at a desk, his silhouette outlined by the glare of two monitors behind him. The soft sound of typing resonates through the space, and I’m not even sure he heard me come in.

"So this is the rat's nest, huh?" Minding the yellow trip-hazard cords as I enter, the first thing I notice is that the room is filled with all manner of keyboards—the musical variety—and electronic parts.

He doesn’t respond right away, and I’m about to speak again when a curious sight catches my eye. My gaze settles on a Dedsec poster pinned to the wall, a hatchet buried violently in the distorted digital mascot’s face.

Well, I guess it’s safe to say that his grudge is pretty deep.

"Do you have to make it sound like some dingy hole?" He finally responds, turning in his chair to look at me. I note his tired smile and the prominent circles under his eyes. So, I didn't wake him up after all. Probably pulled one of his regular all-nighters.

"Do you ever go outside? In the daytime? There's a thing called natural light." I joke, gesturing to the bright glare of his monitors.

"Why would I do that? All the sunshine I need is right here." He stands, taking the bag of breakfast food from me as he plants a kiss on my cheek.

"I think you need to get some sleep, buddy. You're starting to sound unusually sappy." I smile. I'd been intending to chastise him for treating me as a delivery service, but goddamn, he got me with that line.

"What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn't occasionally say shit like that?" He raises an amused eyebrow. Well, I'm not going to argue. It's not like I don't like hearing those things.

"I would rather have cooked for you, but I figured that you'd have nothing in your fridge except energy drinks." Seeing no other chairs in the room, I clear a space on his desk to sit on.

"I'm offended that you think that." He replies, disappearing into what I assume is the doorway to a kitchen and returning with—surprise, surprise—two cans of Monster.

"You're not wrong though." He tosses me one of them, and I fumble as I catch it.

I frown, watching him open his can and gulp down the carbonated drink.

"I thought you had an 8 million dollar salary. Why are you living in this tiny place?"

"You're kidding, right? You know better than to assume what you read on CTOS is true." He replies, biting into a hash-brown. "DeMarco’s loaded, but the asshole spends it all on expensive hookers and art. Pays me shit all."

"And your sugar daddy, Blume?" I joke cautiously, stifling the smile that tugs at my lips.

"That would be a sugar _momma_." He rolls his eyes, but he doesn't seem mad.

"Better. Much better." He shrugs, "Doesn’t matter what I want, they’ll give it to me. It’s not like I need a fucking mansion though. I just need my rides, my toys," he makes a sweeping gesture towards the musical instruments and electronics in the room, "and the fixers. That's where most of the money goes anyway."

He sounds oddly accepting of his new relationship with Blume, and that is _not_ the Jay I knew three years ago. After Dedsec refused him, I thought he'd vehemently oppose association with any groups. His ego doesn't take rejection well.

"If you're going to judge me, do it out loud." His irritation is really hard to take seriously when his words are muffled by a mouthful of BLT sandwich.

I mull over my choice of words as I survey his furrowed brow and expectant expression.

"I'm just wondering how you feel about working with Blume. Considering… you know, you're not a fan of _other_ groups." I tilt my head towards the vandalized Dedsec poster.

"Why would you make that comparison?" He narrows his eyes at me, "Blume recognizes my talent at least, and they pay for it. Those dumbasses at dedsuck wouldn’t recognize skill if it was fucking gift wrapped and handed to them."

There's a long silence before I finally decide to test the limits of his patience this morning.

"So… what is Blume paying for exactly?" I plaster on the most innocent expression I can manage, but he shuts me down with a cool glance.

"Listen, Amber. The reason I called you over was because I've been thinking about what you said. All night, actually." He downs the rest of his energy drink, crumples the paper bag, and expertly tosses them both into a nearby waste-bin. "If you're serious about getting back together, I'll tell you what you want to know. Just give me some time."

I admit I'm surprised; I didn't expect that question to go anywhere. I mean, I didn’t expect him to open up this soon.

"You think I'm not serious about getting back together?" I raise an amused eyebrow.

He rises from his chair, closes the space between us and presses a surprisingly spirited kiss to my lips, drawing me into an impromptu make-out session that tastes mostly of lime-flavoured Monster. Not exactly my favourite taste, but he’s got me pinned against the edge of the desk, his hands finding their way to my hips as he presses his body even closer. I resign myself to the fact that I’m not getting an answer to my question until he’s satisfied.

As he deepens the kiss, his tongue relentlessly keeping my mouth occupied, I let my hands trail under the hem of his t-shirt, following the v-line of his abdomen down to the point where the faint trail of hair disappears at the top of his pants. I trace light circles just below his belly button with my fingertips and, predictably, a slight shiver races through his body. I smile into the kiss, feeling his muscles clench beneath my touch.

He responds by breaking away, though his hesitance to do so tells me this isn't enough. 

"I don't know, Amber. Maybe you just want me for my body." He jokes it off, giving me a smug look.

I know he's kidding, but I'm trying really, really hard to hold back my laughter here.

"There are men with smaller egos if all I wanted was that." I scoff. He smiles, then pauses.

"Did you…" He immediately seems to regret saying anything, and his hand instinctively moves to the back of his neck in that way it does when he's self-conscious.

"Did I what, Jay?" I smile knowingly, moving some unruly strands of his obnoxious blue hair out of his face.

His brown eyes flicker my way and hold my gaze intently as he studies my expression.

"Did you… you know, sleep with other guys?"

For someone who casually drops F-bombs constantly, it's adorable that he's suddenly become so shy about asking me if I've been seeing anyone else.

"I didn't tell you? Of course I didn't." I raise a surprised eyebrow, and he doesn't reply. His eyes flicker away again.

"Would it bother you if I did?" I ask softly, cupping his cheek with one hand.

"No, it's normal, right? I mean, people do that when they take breaks. They fuck other people.” He trails off, and I don't think he ever meant this conversation to take this turn. His return to using crude language signifies to me that he's trying not to seem vulnerable.

Well, let's run with it, shall we?

"What about you, then? You're telling me Chicago's most popular DJ didn't have a long line-up of groupies eager to get in your pants?" I tease.

He looks almost disgusted that I'd suggest such a thing, then the split-second of hesitation makes my heart drop for a moment.

Shit… there was someone?

His hand goes back to his neck again, and he hesitates.

"It doesn't count if it's porn, right?"

I laugh so suddenly that it startles him, and at this point I can already see the annoyance manifesting on his face, but I really can't stop. Damn, his ears are burning. Save me from this adorable idiot.

"Oh my god, Jay, you scared me." It takes a while, but I finally pull myself together, brushing away the tears pooling in my eyes as I stifle the remnants of my laughter.

He takes a step away from me, and I can see he isn't pleased with my reaction to his naivety.

"I'm sorry. I was just… I was really worried that maybe you… and Clara—"

"Fuck no." His scowl is so deep it's approaching a snarl, "Don't mention her name around me."

"Well you know… the piercings, the hair… It's so drastic. I thought she influenced you." I frown, looking down at my hands. It’s not so funny anymore.

Badboy17… I barely knew her, but she was our inter-mediator with Dedsec.  

I can't pretend I didn't spend a lot of time during these past 3 years wondering if she and Jay got together. She didn't seem to have any feelings for him, and when I left he hated her, but what's to say his feelings couldn't change?

A girl's mind goes wild with speculation when left alone for so long.

"I'm not allowed to have piercings because someone else has them?" He sighs, and I realize how stupid I must have sounded for suggesting it in the first place.

I sit there in embarrassed silence for a moment, and he runs a hand through that obnoxious blue fauxhawk, trying—and failing—to comb out the bedhead.

"Bet your mom would have a fit if she saw me now." He comments.

"She'd have a fit if she saw you, period." I respond flatly, and he chuckles.

"Well, what can I say? I felt like a loser when you left me, so I did it to feel badass." He replies. When I don't respond right away, his expression quickly sobers.

"I’m kidding, you know."

I force a faint smile, but it didn't sound like a joke when he said it.

"Jason, you don't have to force yourself to forgive me. I know what I did was stupid," I gaze down at the can in my hands "It's not too late for me to leave—"

"Jesus Amber, I was just kidding. Fuck, I shouldn't bother making jokes when I'm tired." He rubs his face with one hand, "I'm just being an asshole now. I already forgave you."

Just hearing those words lifts an invisible weight from my shoulders that I hadn't even known was there.

"Then you should probably get some sleep. I'm not here to stop you." I slip off the desk and intend to leave when he takes my hand, blocking my way.

"Sleep with me then."

"Jay, you're exhaust—" My eyebrow is half-raised when he lets out a frustrated sigh, realizing I've already misconstrued his words.

"I mean lie with me, damn it." He slaps a hand to his forehead, and I laugh lightly, because as irritated as he is with me, he's _so_ amusing when he's tired.

"Awww, do you need a lullaby? A bedtime story?" I tease as he leads me into the attached bedroom.

"Fuck off." He grumbles.

When the lights flicker on, I survey the clothes overflowing from a laundry hamper, the random electronics parts scattered all over the bedside table, what looks like an unfinished computer rig in one corner of the room…

"Damn, you'll have to let me clean this up later—" I'm not even finished my comment when I feel my feet lifting off the ground and I realize in panic that he's picking me up. Before I have a chance to cry out, he drops me onto the bed and lays down, throwing an arm over me and essentially trapping me between his body and the wall.

"Shut up." He murmurs, his eyes already closed.

Well, whatever. It's not like I had anything better to do with my Sunday than to serve as a teddy bear.

"Sleep tight, stupid." I smile in resignation, inch closer and brush his hair out of his face. His breathing rate is already slowing down, his lips parted slightly as he drifts into slumber. If he's fallen asleep this quickly, he was way more tired than he let on. Not even the energy drink could stave off this crash.

It bothers me to think that he might have been living like this the whole time I've been gone.

_All the sunshine I need is right here._

Damn.


	7. I Know

It's not until I register the soft buzz of the cell phone in the pocket of my jeans that I realize I've fallen asleep in Jay's bed. His eyes are still shut, his limbs entangled in mine. Out cold.

I rub my eyes as I take the phone out, glancing at the time on the screen. Just after 5 p.m., huh? Almost time for dinner, then.

There's three missed text messages, and I don't have to check to know they're probably all from Camila.

Before I have a chance to read any of them, the phone vibrates again in my hand. It's a call.

I glance at Jay's sleeping face and carefully untangle myself from his grasp, climbing over him without disturbing his peaceful sleep.

The minute I answer the call, Camila's infuriatingly loud voice pours out of my phone speakers. I step out of the bedroom and sit down in the task chair at the desk as she berates me.

" _Where have you been all day, Amber? Tsk, really girl. I've been waiting forever to fill you in!_ "

"Sorry, Camila. I've been busy." I spin the chair idly, bracing myself for the inevitable and endless barrage of speech to follow. Well, at least it's bound to be interesting, given that at she probably had a more exciting day than I've had.

 _"What, busy with your DJ boyfriend?"_ I can hear her smile through the phone, and unconsciously my eyes flicker to the bedroom where Jay is still fast asleep.

"No. And he's not—" well, saying he's not my boyfriend would be a lie, actually. She doesn't seem to notice or care about my pause, and continues her chatter as if I'd never interjected.

_"I told Sammy, you know. He's so impressed you managed to get close to Defalt that quickly!"_

Now she's going on about how she hopes Sam won't fall for me, but my mind is racing over her last words. _She told him_. Shit. Jay's going to be pissed. He definitely doesn't seem to have a high regard for the man, and I'm sure this new revelation will only annoy him further.

"I'd really rather you didn't tell him. Or anyone. Please don't talk about my relationships, Camila." I try my best to sound stern, and I kind of feel bad about it, but I have to put my foot down this time.

 _"Oh c'mon, Amber. You want to keep this a secret? It'll get out sooner or later."_ She teases.

"Not if no one starts talking about it to begin with." I resist the urge to grit my teeth. I wish she'd never seen the damn sweater. I messed up.

I hear a rustling in the other room and glance over to find Jay risen from his sleep as if Camila's mentions have woken him.

He stretches his arms, rubs his face and watches me for a moment.

 _"You promised you'd let me meet him."_ Camila's pout is discernible even though I can't see her face.

Yeah, I forgot that was a thing I have to bring up with him.

Jay pulls his shirt over his head as he stands, then tosses it into the already overflowing laundry bin as he walks to the en-suite bathroom. The sound of running water follows.

"I'll see what he says." I sigh, "No promises, though. He doesn't want anyone to know his identity."

 _"That's so unfair. How come he trusts you when you've only just met?"_ Am I mistaken to think there's a hint of bitterness in her voice?

I smile. If you only knew, Camila.

"I met him before, at a party. A year ago." I lie. If it'll keep her off my case, I'll say anything.

_"What?! How come you didn't tell me?!"_

"When I met him, he didn't tell me he was Defalt _._ He just said he was a DJ in Chicago. You can't possibly expect me to tell you about every single person I meet, Camila." I throw together a plausible excuse, and she seems to accept it.

 _"Well… Fine. But don't hide people from me from now on!"_ She sounds more like she's joking than anything, but I know she's at least partly serious. Her dreams of making it big in Chicago's entertainment scene depend on a wide social network. Sometimes I wonder if I'm just a pawn in her grand scheme. Not a comforting thought.

 _"Anyway, I have to go, hun. Pick up your phone the next time I call_!" Her lighthearted voice dispels my suspicions and makes me feel a little bad about thinking those things in the first place. Camila may be opportunistic and …ambitious, but she's never been a bad friend to me. She seems to have my best interests at heart most of the time. I shouldn't be so mean.

"Bye, Camila." I smile. She hangs up, and I return my phone to my pocket, gazing absentmindedly at the masking tape expertly arranged on the back wall of the room. I didn't notice it before, but from this particular perspective the lines are cleverly arranged into the shape of a rat's head.

I smile to myself. What a creative idiot. He sure has a lot of time on his hands.

I'm getting up to leave when he steps out of the bedroom, a towel over his wet hair, half-naked save for the pair of black jeans riding low on his hips.

"Leaving?" He sounds a little disappointed, and I pause in the threshold, crossing my arms.

"You've been a terrible host, what can I say?" I joke.

I'm surprised by the sombre frown that appears on his face.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to sleep through it all." He crosses the floor, "Honestly, I just haven't been able to sleep that well in a long time."

He holds my gaze for a moment, then his eyes flicker elsewhere. It feels like he wants to say something more, but he's fighting internally over it. I know he's given up when he looks at me again.

"Go home, before I say something really stupid." He mumbles, rubbing his wet hair with the towel.

"Whatever you were going to say, it isn't stupid." I frown.

His brown eyes fixate on me. It might not be the best time to tell him, but Camila will keep hounding me for days if I don't.

"Listen, Camila came by my apartment this morning and saw your sweater in my room. And she's adamant that I introduce her to you." I shove my hands in the pockets of my jeans, waiting for his reaction.

He scowls, but doesn't immediately protest.

"You didn't tell her, did you?" He watches me warily.

"You think I'd tell her your identity?" I resist the urge to roll my eyes, "I wish you'd trust me a little more."

"That bitch is manipulative. I just wanted to be sure." He shrugs.

I'm about to respond when I remember the other bombshell revelation Camila made.

"What?" Jay latches on to my hesitant silence almost immediately.

"She might have told Sam Cho that I slept with you." I reply slowly, knowing full well what kind of reaction it'll cause.

He exhales sharply through his nose, his nostrils flaring, and looks away.

"She's such a damn fool." He mutters, and I raise my eyebrows in surprise. It wasn't what I expected to hear.

"Does she think it's going to win her any favours with him? He's just going to throw her aside and go after _you_ until you tell him what he wants to know." He looks disgusted by the thought of it. "They're the same kind of opportunity-snatching idiots. They deserve each other."

I wait expectantly for his final verdict, and his expression finally softens to one of resignation.

"Fine, she can meet me at the VIP pre-party at Dot Connexion tomorrow night, if she's free. But she has to agree to shut her little mouth and stop telling the world that you're dating me. And she can't bring Sam Cho."

"Okay-"

He cuts me off, grasping my shoulder as he steps forward, closing the distance between us.

"And you have to be there," His gaze flickers from my lips to my eyes, "I won't talk to her. If I do, she'll know it's me."

"She's going to be pissed, you know." I give him a small smile, and he returns a devious smirk.

"I know."


	8. Your Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, sorry again for the immense delays between updates OTL. I've been very busy. I hope this chapter length makes up for it. Also, you might have noticed the chapter names have changed. I started using chapter names to make it a bit easier for me to organize. Anyway, enjoy, and thanks for your support!

I can't blame Camila for being excited to meet Defalt. I just wish she weren't _so_ damn excited. It feels like she hasn't stopped chattering since the moment I let her know I had tickets to tonight's VIP pre-party.

She spent hours choosing an outfit. After all, presentation is key when you're trying to make an impression on "important" people, and Camila _is convinced_ that important people will be there. And I don't think she'll be disappointed; Jay said Joseph DeMarco's business partners and acquaintances are known to frequent these exclusive events.

It definitely feels different when we arrive outside the Ambrose. No flashing lights on the façade, no special notice on the sign to indicate a secret pre-party for the night's show. It all feels like a ploy to urge passersby to _move along_ , _nothing to see here._ There's no lineup to greet us, just a lone bouncer checking tickets. Yet as we enter the lobby and pass through the double doors, we can see that there's already a sizable crowd on the dance floor, and the party's already started.

The spotlights flicker our way briefly as a gesture to announce our arrival, though no one seems to notice or care that we're here. As usual, there are numerous fixers lingering in the shadows, some of them visibly armed. There's a repetitive electro beat in the background, but the volume is low and the DJ booth is unoccupied.

I scan the floor for Defalt, but see no sign of him or his illuminated rat mask and dorky attachable ears.

The crowd is an interesting mix of suits—the kind of people you'd be more likely to find around a corporate board room than a club—and artsy types. I feel like I have a good sense of DeMarco's personality just by observing the people he's invited here. They mingle seamlessly, taking no notice of the fact that they occupy two entirely different industries.

The QR-box-head waiters are making their rounds, and one of them maneuvers through the crowd toward us. His screen flickers and displays a small rat logo, with the words "second floor lounge" beneath.

I don't even get a chance to open my mouth; Camila has already grabbed my arm and is proceeding to pull me along through the crowd, towards the staircases. As we pass through, she discretely murmurs names of high-profile people to me, though I barely get a chance to attach names to faces.

"Don't you want to mingle around with those people first?" I pause as we reach the bottom of the staircase.

"Later, there's plenty of time. I need to establish that I know Defalt personally, first." She looks a little bit smug, and I struggle to keep my smile under wraps.

If she thinks he'll introduce her to anyone… sorry, Camila. That's a pretty ambitious dream.

We head up the stairs and find ourselves in the space directly behind the DJ booth. I see now that there are couches and a table in the dark corner, situated in a way that makes it impossible to see from the floor below if one glances up, or the floor above if glancing down.

He's sitting there, and two brunettes are on either side of him, sitting too close for my comfort. They giggle, their drinks sloshing in their glasses as they rub up against him like intoxicated cats.

I resist the urge to cross my arms, choosing instead to rub the tattoo on my left forearm, hoping he'll note the signal as a sign of my irritation.

He motions them away silently with one hand, but they whine about how little time they got to spend with him. I feel my temper rising exponentially, but I'm not sure whether I'm mad at the chicks or at the idiot playboy sitting between them.

"Times up, ladies." I snap my fingers, "Don't you have other customers waiting for your services?"

I hear Camila snort back a laugh, and the look of shock on the girls' faces is satisfyingly worth letting Jay witness my jealous anger.

He tilts his head slightly, his shoulders trembling like he's holding back a laugh.

"We're not prostitutes. You'd better watch your mouth, bitch." One of the girls looks me up and down menacingly. I don't have time to wonder if they plan to fight me; they get up and storm off, pride wounded.

I resist the urge to demand an immediate explanation from Jay. Any indication that our relationship is serious will immediately rouse Camila's suspicions… after all, in her eyes, my status with _Defalt_ is the same as those girls: nothing more than a temporary plaything.

It occurs to me that Jay could have been planning that entire display to keep up the playboy image, but if he was… he should have told me in advance. Asshole.

He pats the couch directly beside him, but I sit a little further away to spite him. He notices.

Camila doesn't seem to catch on to our silent feud, though. She's still laughing over my earlier comment as she seats herself beside me.

"God, Amber. I've never seen you sass any strangers like that!"

"Well, what can I say? Sometimes people don't realize how _rude_ they're being and they deserve a verbal smackdown." I plaster a forced smile on my face, and Jay averts his gaze, despite the fact that he's wearing a mask and I can't see his expression anyway.

I note the expectant curiosity that now lines Camila's face, and I can only assume she's waiting for a proper introduction from me.

"Defalt, this is Camila Alves, the friend I mentioned to you." I nod in her direction, "and of course, Camila already knows who you are."

"I'm a huge fan of your music." She blurts out.

I hear the beginning of a laugh, but Defalt quickly stifles it with a cough and nods. She frowns, and it's clear that she expected a spoken response. She glances between us both, as if to question whether I'm playing some elaborate and cruel prank on her, introducing her to an impostor.

That's when he speaks.

"Thanks. I don't really talk much."

I cringe with every word that comes out of his mouth, because despite his efforts to lower his voice, despite the slight muffling effect the mask provides, despite the blaring background beat, it's still recognizably Jason Markowicz.

I look at Camila, bracing myself for her inevitable realization.

Instead, her expression softens, her face lighting up. If she recognized him, she isn't showing it.

"Oh, that's all? Thank God." She laughs, "I thought you just didn't like me for a minute there."

This situation is absolutely absurd.

"Honestly, I wouldn't have believed Amber was with you if I hadn't seen your sweater at her place. I never thought DJs were her type." She elbows me lightly in the ribs as a sly smile appears on her face.

"Oh?" Defalt angles his head slightly, and I feel his gaze settle on me through the plastic LEDs of his mask.

"Yeah, she used to be all over the nerd hacker types. I'm glad she moved on." Camila continues, evidently digging her own grave.

I expect to see some kind of change in Jay's body language, at least some _hint_ that he's annoyed or irritated, but there isn't any. Somehow that's scarier than his usual angry reaction to these things.

"That's enough about me, Camila." I caution her with a forced smile, "I'm sure there are other things you want to talk about?"

"Yeah, of course! I'm always telling Amber how impressed I am with this place. Joseph DeMarco must be an amazing boss to work under." She watches Defalt with keen interest.

He just shrugs in response. Her smile doesn't falter, though.

"Actually, when Sam and I were talking yesterday, Mr. DeMarco dropped in on our brunch date! It was _such_ an honour. Really, I'm envious you work with such an interesting, inspired guy." She's laying on the praise really thickly now, but it's becoming clearer that Defalt is no longer invested in the conversation.

He stares at her for so long that I forget it's Jay for a minute and begin to feel a little creeped out by the silent, glowing LED mask and its unmoving body.

"You don't want to get involved with him. It's not what you imagine." He hasn't even attempted to disguise his voice in the slightest, and his words carry an ominous tone.

Camila looks taken aback for a minute, then quickly recovers, an unfazed smile breaking out on her face.

"I'm sure you don't mean that. He only had excellent things to say about you. And he was really interested in meeting you, Amber." She looks at me.

The words are barely out of her mouth when Jay slams his hands on the table, knocking over a bottle of alcohol in the process. It shatters on the ground, spilling all over his converse high-tops, but he doesn't notice.

"You fucking _told him_ about her?" His fury is uncontainable, and I move forward to place my hands on his shoulders, but he's already attempting to shake me free.

"Defalt, it's fine." I caution him, hoping he'll realize this outburst is uncharacteristic for a man I'm only supposed to be having a fling with. Who cares if DeMarco knows I exist? Defalt is apparently a player with multiple chicks on his arm.

He doesn't listen to me, though.

"It's not fucking okay! You don't know him. You don't know—" He's cut off by the sound of voices approaching, and we all look over to see Joseph DeMarco himself crossing the floor towards us, accompanied by no other than the over-accessorized Sam Cho.

"Defalt, my man!" DeMarco stretches his arms out in exaggerated enthusiasm, "Haven't had the chance to chat with you in a while!"

"Leave, both of you." Jay says it so quietly I'm not even sure Camila heard him. I get up from my seat, pulling Camila along with me by the elbow, trying to make an awkward exit look as casual as possible.

It's clear that she wants to protest, but I shoot her a furtive warning glare.

We're about to sidestep DeMarco when his attention falls upon me suddenly.

" _Ah_ , is that your girlfriend, Defalt?" His eyes light up, "Don't make her leave. I want to meet her."

"Sam, why don't you see that Ms. Alves has a good time?" DeMarco waves the man off like a mere personal assistant, and while I stand frozen to my spot, I watch Sam talk Camila into going downstairs for a drink. I can only imagine how confused and angry she probably is, and I know I'll have to come up with an adequate story to tell her later. It'll definitely take a lot of effort to cheer her up, though. Tonight's been an utter disaster.

In the meanwhile, I have no choice but to return to my seat on the couch beside Jay. From the restrained tension in his body and the way his hands are grasped tightly together, I can see that he's holding back his anger.

DeMarco studies me silently, a seemingly harmless smile on his face. He fits the stereotypical "beret-and-turtleneck-wearing jazz musician who plays bongos" character archetype, and I'm having trouble imagining what kind of no-good things he could have up his sleeve. Fraud? Money laundering? Mafia connections?

"So, you're Defalt's girlfriend, hmm? Your friend Camila mentioned you yesterday, and I was hoping I might find you here tonight! And here you are, of course." He smiles triumphantly, "What's your name again?"

I open my mouth to reply when Jay cuts me off.

"You don't need to know. You don't need to know anything about her." He doesn't pull any punches with his tone, and the way he speaks freely makes me wonder if he's always been talking to his boss like this.

"Calm down, Def. I just wanted to meet the woman who swept you off your feet!" DeMarco puts his hands up in mock defense, but an amused smile lingers on his lips, "I didn't know you were looking for a girlfriend. You've never been interested in any of the girls I suggested to you."

"I'm not interested in—" Defalt stops abruptly as he watches the frown appear on DeMarco's face, and then rethinks his words.

"I'm not interested in those girls. Leave this one out of it. She means nothing to you." His final response is like a rabid dog realizing it still has a leash: angry, but with an understanding that he has limits.

DeMarco chuckles, and Jay's hands grip the edge of the couch tightly. I place a reassuring hand on his thigh to make sure he doesn't lash out and choke the man to death.

"Fine, fine." DeMarco stands, buttoning his suit jacket. "Don't worry, my man. I'm not in the business of ruining the lives of my best assets, not with the amount of capital and attention you bring Dot Connexion."

Jay doesn't respond. Even if he did, I figure it'd just be a string of swear words and insults.

"I'd love to invite you two out to dinner sometime though. It's a shame you insist on the mask in my company, but maybe you'll change your mind at a five-star restaurant." He seems amused by his own suggestion, and I can see why Jay hates him. DeMarco belittles him. Treats him like a child.

With a simple wave and a warm smile in my direction, DeMarco heads back in the direction he came from, leaving me alone with Jay… and Jay's temper.

I know if I don't act quickly, he's going to smash everything on the table in front of him.

"I know you're pissed off, but you know he was just toying with you." I frown, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"You don't fucking understand. Not you, or your idiot friend." He removes my hand and holds it in his own, his grip tightening, "That man is a monster. And that bitch… I can't believe she fucking told him! Why didn't you tell me?!"

The volume of his voice is rising, and I'm really concerned about who might overhear. It's clear that DeMarco exercises some control over Jay, and there are secrets he expects to be kept under wraps. Terrible secrets, evidently.

"She didn't tell me either, Ja—Defalt." I frown at how awkward it feels to call him by that name, even though we're alone. "You can tell me everything, but not here. There's no point in getting mad here."

When he doesn't respond, I know I've won.

I lean in and place a soft kiss on his mask, leaving a light trace of maroon lipstick there.

He takes my left forearm in his hand, running his thumb along my circuit board tattoo.

"After the show, then." He mumbles, "Your place."


End file.
